Gun Play
by Katica Locke
Summary: Reese teaches Finch how to use a gun. Mild slashiness. One-shot.


**Author's Note:** Blame the drunken plot-bunnies. Oh, and everything I know about guns I learned on TV, so if I'm completely wrong about anything, that's why. ^_^

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><p>Finch sat in the passenger's seat, his lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze set resolutely ahead, refusing to acknowledge the man behind the wheel.<p>

"Oh, come on, Finch," Reese said finally. "There's no reason to give me the silent treatment just because I won't tell you where we're going. I told you, it's a surprise."

"And I told _you_, I don't like surprises," Finch responded.

Reese just sighed. Half an hour later, they reached their destination - a private shooting range. Finch stared out the window, then turned to Reese, scowling hard.

"Why did you bring me here? You know I don't like firearms."

"Which isn't going to stop someone from pointing one at you," Reese said, opening his door. "C'mon, I reserved the whole place. It'll be just us." Finch didn't move. "Please, Harold. I'll sleep easier knowing you can take care of yourself."

Finch rolled his eyes, but unbuckled his seat belt. "I assure you, Mr. Reese, I _can_ take care of myself."

"I know," Reese said with a smile as they climbed out of the car, "but the bodyguards can't be with you twenty-four hours a day." Finch gave him an unfathomable look and followed silently as they made their way into the shooting range. Reese handed him safety glasses and hearing protection, then led him to a booth. At the far end of the room hung one of those paper targets with the outline of a man on it.

"All right," Reese said, pulling a pistol out from under his jacket, "this is one of the best guns I've found. It's solid but not too heavy, it's never jammed on me, it's got a comfortable grip, and the recoil is manageable. Here is the safety." He slid the catch down. "Now it's ready to fire. Here's how you remove the magazine. You put it back, you rack it, now there's a round in the chamber. Never point it at anything you wouldn't want to put a bullet in. Now you take it."

"Mr. Reese," Finch protested, but Reese just pressed the weapon into his hand.

"Feel the weight of it, Harold," he said. "Hold it firmly, but not too tight. Don't squeeze it. Good. Now let's work on your stance. You want your feet apart, your shoulders square, your body centered over your hips." He stepped behind Finch, placing his hands at Finch's waist. Finch tensed, but didn't pull away. "That's good, now take aim at the target. You're right-handed, yes?"

"Yes."

"Hold it in your right hand and use the left to steady it. Don't lock your elbows. Try to stay loose and relaxed. Here, like this." He stepped closer, his chest pressing against Finch's back as he reached around him, his hands covering Finch's. "Very good, Harold," he said softly, his breath falling on the side of Finch's neck. "I think you're ready."

"Mr. Reese," Finch said, his voice tight, "if I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to seduce me."

"I guess it's a good thing you know better then," Reese murmured, his long fingers caressing Finch's hands.

Finch swallowed loudly. "So, this is all just an elaborate excuse to manhandle me?"

"Not at all. I want you to know how to handle a weapon." He turned his head, his lips brushing against the shell of Finch's ear as he whispered, "Although I have to admit, seeing your hands on my gun is really turning me on."

Finch lowered the pistol, pulling away from Reese and turning to face him. "In that case, maybe we should call it a day and go back to your hotel."

Reese chuckled. "I knew you didn't like guns, but I didn't think you'd offer to sleep with me just to get out of having to use one. We're not leaving here until I'm satisfied that you can defend yourself."

"Fine," Finch said, his mouth tight as he settled the protective equipment over his ears. Reese did the same and started to move back behind Finch, but before he could, Finch raised the pistol, took aim, and squeezed off six shots, one after the other. "Satisfied?" Finch asked, handing him the pistol. Reese stepped forward, pressing the button that brought the target to them. Finch had put three in the head and three in the chest. Arching an eyebrow, Reese turned back to his employer.

"Just because I don't like firearms doesn't mean I don't know how to use them, Mr. Reese," Finch said. "Thank you for the lesson, though. It was very...educational. I'll be in the car whenever you're ready."

Reese watched him walk away, with his neat suit and stiff gait, still as much of an enigma as when they had met. He glanced down at his gun, then at the target, allowing himself a quiet chuckle as he shook his head and followed after Finch


End file.
